


Blue Skies and Park Benches

by buccellati



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 16:12:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buccellati/pseuds/buccellati
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Castiel takes the angel tablet and runs, Dean Winchester is left doing what he does best; drinking, fighting random baddies, and meeting girls at his local bar. When aforementioned angel happens to zap himself into the Impala's backseat, things start getting a little messy, and end up staying that way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after 8.17 Goodbye Stranger and before 8.18 Freaks and Geeks.  
> Unfinished, and also gonna be hella long.  
> It's my first fic on here, so a little critique or a few tips would be really great!!  
> Thanks for checkin it out uwu

Dean Winchester has never really been in control, not with Sammy and not with himself. The only time Dean is in control of anyone is when he’s fucking a blonde straight into a hotel mattress and honestly, at that point he’s not even thinking. Dean Winchester is a hunter, not a lover, and the two put together make for an undeniable sex machine. It’s good sex, sure. The girls all claim it’s fantastic. But Dean hardly remembers it the day after, and by the time a week passes he's too busy packing salt into bullets to linger on the ghost of a good time. So no, Dean Winchester is definitely not ever in control.  
Dean Winchester doesn't fantasize about fucking any girl's brains out. When he's alone he thinks about monsters, and what goes bump in the night, and all the ways in which he'd like to wrap his dirty, callused fingers around his own neck. Sometimes he picks up a copy of his favorite issue of "Busty Asian Beauties" and spends a little time downstairs but really, his heart isn't in it. Dean Winchester, if you asked him, would say that he doesn't even have a heart. He has a brain, and a body, and a job. Dean Winchester is a simple man, but not really.

Most of the time when Sam Winchester finds out his big brother's been jerking off to some kind of anime porn, he doesn't ask. Sometimes, he does.

"Dude, what is with you and that stuff?"  
Dean grins, and it stretches halfway across his face before dying a quick and quiet death. "I have no idea what you're talking about."  
Sam gives him one of his classic looks, the ones where it's as if the word "sarcasm" is written in black sharpie marker across his forehead. "Cmon, Dean. Anime? Really? I'm pretty sure Pokémon is for like, 11-year-olds."  
Dean closes his laptop with a thump, crossing his arms like a belligerent third grader. "I wasn't-- Jesus Christ, Sammy, I wasn't watching fucking Pokémon."  
Sam grins, shakes his head. "Yeah, okay, I'm sure. Pikachu, I choose you!" Dean dodges a rolled up tissue ball and rolls his eyes. "Okay Mr. Ray of Sunshine, what's got you so peppy?"  
Sam sits down with his own laptop, leaning back so far he nearly falls off the chair. "For starters, check this one out. Garth shot me an email last night, said he heard about this through the grapevine and figured we wanna check it out." he spins the computer across the table to dean, whose eyes widen in surprise. "Another vamp nest, huh? Geez, I thought you would’ve had enough of the pointy-teethed bastards after last week."  
His long-haired brother shrugs, taking the computer back. "Well, seeing as Cas is who-knows-where and Kevin is knee deep in headache meds trying to find out the second trial, I figured we'd give it a shot."  
Dean leans back in his chair, crosses his arms. "Yeah, sounds like a plan. Cmon Pikachu, let's get going." But his heart isn't it, for God only knows Dean Winchester's heart hasn't really been in anything for a while.

Well, maybe Sam Winchester knows it too.

"Dean, hey, wait a second. You still owe me that talk, y’know. I'm pretty sure that thing with Cas wasn't really a walk in the park."  
Dean scowls, then puts on his best sarcastic smile. "Sure, Sammy. Like I said, I'll go grab the green tea, you can get the sympathy cupcakes, we'll have ourselves a nice little talk."  
"Dean--" "Sam, cmon. I said I'm fine, and I'm fine. Look. No bruises, no marks, I’m one hundred percent on the ball.” "Dean, that's not what I meant and you know it."  
Dean sits back down, elbows banging on the wooden table with a resigned thump. "You know what, Sam? Let's talk. You and me, right here, right now. Let's talk about how you were, oh yeah, coughing up blood and somehow neglected to tell me."  
Sam blows air out through his noise like an angry, cornered animal. "Gee Dean, for a guy with a pretty screwed up track record himself, you sure seem to be layin' down the law on me here!"  
Dean reaches for a bottle that isn't there, clawing at empty air with a broken reflex. Sam notices and narrows his eyes. Dean's semi-rampant alcoholism isn't something that's worried his little brother; it's been there ever since Dean got back from Hell all those years ago, like a little bug that attached itself to Dean's shoulder. Sam sighs again, reaching down into a cooler next to the table. He pulls out two beers; Dean takes his and stands up. "Good talk, Sammy. Real good talk." Before Sam can pull the bottle from his lips to protest, Dean Winchester is long gone.

Halfway down the interstate, at roughly eighty-seven miles per hour, one scruffy-haired angel zaps himself into the backseat and Dean Winchester almost crashes his favorite car.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A summary: Dean Winchester is not exactly the world's best communicator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's actually pretty short. Only like 800 words.

“Hello Dean.”  
There are tire tracks on the road behind them, and Dean Winchester’s knuckles are white, clutching the steering wheel like it’s a rope and he’s dangling from the side of a cliff. Slowly he lets go, exhaling loudly, his body making a prominent thump as it hits the light leather seat of the Impala.  
“God fucking dammit, Cas.”  
Sam Winchester gives his brother a sharp sideways look in the same way that he always does when Dean fucks something up. “Dean!” His brother makes eye contact with him for a minute, then turns his attention back to the angel in the backseat.  
“Cas. You, me, outside. Now.” He turns back around and slides out of the car like an angry panther stalking its prey as Castiel fumbles his way out of the backseat. Sam pauses, then awkwardly joins the two on the side of the road. Dean is standing, arms crossed, with the deadly look on his face Sam has seen a thousand times before.  
“Dean, you have to understand. The angel tablet-” The angel’s voice is low and rushed and his eyes keep flicking up to the side as if he is a cornered animal. Dean Winchester takes a step forward, uncrossing his arms to leave them, fists clenched, hanging at his sides. “I don’t care about your damn angel tablet, Castiel. I care about where the hell you’ve been, who the fuck Naomi is and oh, right, why the hell you almost killed me the other day.”  
Sam steps forward, puts a hand on his brother’s shoulder. It is a warning signal, for Castiel is visibly tired and avoids Dean’s glare like he’s a criminal and Dean is the law. Silence falls for a minute that seems to stretch forever, and Dean sighs. “You know what Cas, forget it.” He leans down, jerking the door handle open with a short, concise movement.  
“Dean-” The angel stops abruptly as Dean Winchester slams the Impala’s door shut. Castiel takes a step forward, clenching his fist, and stops. He looks at Sam, who averts his eyes and steps into the car. And before Castiel can climb back into the backseat, Dean Winchester puts his foot on the gas and drives away.

“Dean! What the hell, man, we can’t just leave him there,” Sam grabs Dean’s shoulder with both hands and narrows his eyes; Dean is tense, tenser than the moments before a hunt, and Sam is fed up. “Dean, listen to me.”  
“Can’t, Sammy, I’m sort of driving.” Dean deadpans, keeping his eyes on the road.  
Sam breathes out through his nose, then blinks. “Dean. Forget about the goddamn fucking vamp nest, will you?”  
“People have died, Sammy,”  
“And we’ll die if you don’t pull the hell over and fucking listen to me, Dean!” For the first time in an hour the sounds of tires squealing rings in the Winchesters’ ears as Dean pulls the Impala to a screeching halt and gets out of the car.  
“Dean, look,” Sam’s voice is lowered and his eyes soft, because the younger Winchester is tiptoeing a thin line and he knows it. Dean leans back on the hood of the car, grins roughly. “It’s so nice havin’ you here, Sammy. No real fighting, no trying to kill each other…when was the last time you tried to kill me, two years ago? Awesome.”  
“Dean.”  
“Right, right, the whole Castiel thing. This is about him, right? What a guy. Angel of the lord, huge dick. Kind of reminds me of, oh, about ten other people we’ve met, huh?”  
“Dean, shut the fuck up.” Sam Winchester crosses his arms, puts on his ‘not messing around’ face. Dean mimics his pose, then shifts and lets his arms hang. His face is steely, eyes flashing like fireworks on the fourth of July. He opens his arms, looks his brother in the eye.  
“No, Sam, you shut up. Enough of this ‘oh Dean, you poor soul, you must be suffering all the time!’ crap. I think I’m old enough to solve my own problems now, Sammy. Besides, I thought you were the younger brother.”  
Sam, exasperated, shakes his head, a defeated look in his eyes. “You know what, Dean? Fine. Don’t talk to me, that’s cool! I’m just saying, you can’t keep all this…this shit bottled up, okay? I figured you probably would’ve figured that much out already.”  
Dean gives his brother one last long look, then breaks eye contact as he rubs the back of his head awkwardly. “Yeah. Thanks, Sammy.” And he’s sincere, finally, Sam knows that much. But the younger brother still lingers after Dean gets in the car, looking back to the horizon where the sun is setting, casting orange and red and purple streamers across the sky.  
“Good talk, Sammy. Real good talk.” And this time, Dean Winchester tells the truth.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean Winchester meets an old friend; alcohol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (he he he.)

The first thing Dean Winchester does when he gets to the Batcave is to boot his little brother out and high-tail it for the closest alcohol-selling location. He figures after today, after this whole godforsaken week, he damn well deserves a few drinks (and maybe a little bit of alone time featuring a blonde and a hotel mattress).

And even though he’s halfway through his third beer, when a perky dark-haired dude with a little stubble slides his way down the bar counter towards him, Dean shoots him down before the introduction.

“Sorry man, not interested. Don’t usually swing that way, no offense.” The man just laughs and shrugs, and his teeth are weirdly white, like he’s a Photoshopped actor in a toothpaste commercial.

“Hey, none taken. But geez, just a tip; let a guy introduce himself first before you play the ‘playing for a different team’ card!” Dean grins back and it isn’t even fake this time, which surprises him. He shrugs, extends a hand against his bad-mannered will. “Name’s Dean.”

The nameless man shakes his hand back, gives that movie-star-turned-toothpaste-actor smile again. “Jeffrey. Nice to meet you, Dean my man.”

Dean shakes his head and downs the rest of his beer in one gulp. His head spins and wait, okay, maybe that wasn’t his third beer, fuck if he knows. He’s lost track but hey, he can feel the bubbles rising through his bloodstream and doesn’t really think it’s such a bad thing after all.

Jeffrey’s eyes scream “talk to me talk to me I want to know about you” and Dean is so tipsy right now, hey, why is the room spinning, woah, “You’ve got nice eyes, dude.”

Jeffrey is laughing and Dean is mortified and “Fuck, I said that out loud, didn’t I.” He reaches for his glass again and okay, it’s empty, he knew that. Jeffrey is still laughing and calls over to the bartender for a glass of water. Dean gives him the “really, water?” glance and smiles against his will. Damn, that was definitely not 3 beers. That was. Uh.

Dean shakes his head. “Hey Jeffrey, man, I’m sorry, that was- I’m not normally- fuck it, you know what I mean.”  
The man shakes his head back and laughs again, geez, it’s as if the room’s filled with laughing gas but he’s the only one affected. “Yeah, I know what you mean. But hey, you’re pretty well stacked on the optical level too, y’know.”

“’Pretty well stacked on the optical level’? Dude, you’re almost as nerdy as my geek brother.” Dean is grinning like a Cheshire cat now and he doesn’t even think it’s the alcohol, it’s more the way he got away and damn, he’s even making friends. Dean Winchester, making friends that aren’t cold-blooded monster killers? Who knew.

“Hey, you’re talking to the biggest biology nerd ever to graduate from my high school. I think I could out-geek this brother of yours any day.” Dean laughs and throws his head back and woah, is he feeling fucking great.

And Dean smiles and you know what, fuck this. “Man, I’d like to see you try. And hey, speaking of trying things,” Dean stands up, albeit a little shakily, and spreads his arms wide. “I’d say there’s a first time for everything.”

Jeffrey’s eyes widen and he smiles, this time more slyly, like a fox peeking out of its hole. “Hey, I’m not gonna argue with that one. But lemme say, man, you’re not driving anywhere in that condition. Hand over the keys.”

Dean is bright red but hey, he thinks, it may or may not be those multiple beers, what the hell, he feels great, let’s go kill a dude. He has a sort of sense of “oh, I’ll regret this in the morning” but he doesn’t care. In the morning he’ll be on his way to bash in the head of the monsters under someone’s bed so really, his time for a little sexual test drive is much overdue. And god, at least the man is attractive; Dean is more than tipsy but he swears he’s seen a face like that before- tousled black hair like he’s been standing in the wind, blue eyes the color of topaz, stubble gracing his chin like eagles swooping over the forest. And damn, that face is so familiar but it’s not exactly the same. Dean knows that much.

He throws Jeffrey his keys. Shotgun in the Impala is so strange but hey, it feels good having a mildly attractive stranger complementing his car as he drives him to get laid. The two pull up at some not-exactly-shabby hotel and yeah, okay, the more Dean looks the more he can tell that Jeffrey isn’t exactly running out of dough any time soon. And before Dean can think the man takes his hand and hey, they’re upstairs, and the door is locked and the black-haired man is taking off his shirt and Dean mumbles something about whether or not he works out and the whole thing is so exhilarating that Dean doesn’t even notice he’s doing anything until he’s naked and oh my god, what the fuck.

He says it out loud. Breathes it, and his voice is raw and husky and “Oh my god, what the fuck,” is the only thing his brain can process. Jeffrey grins but woah, it’s a blur, everything’s a blur and the only thing Dean knows is that he is an animal, Jeffrey’s an animal, and there are monsters in the dark waiting for him come morning.

Dean slides his hands down the other man’s torso instinctively and woah, there’s muscles in different places and no, this isn’t a perky blonde in her twenties, but the Winchester’s hands keep sliding lower and lower and hey, he’s shaking and the other man is half-grinning.

“Lemme guess; first time with a dude.” Jeffrey’s voice is rough too but he’s not shaking, not like Dean. The hunter lets a primal “Yeah.” out through his lips and feels his body hit the bed again and oh my god, he can’t even describe what’s going on, he’s so drunk and hot and disoriented and exhilarated and okay, okay, maybe he’ll swing this way more often. Blue eyes meet green and woah, Dean shivers.

The rest of the night is a blur and Dean Winchester is such an animal, and halfway through the experience his animal instincts kick into gear and wow, it’s not until four o’clock in the morning that Dean is lying on the shitty hotel mattress with his brains fucked out.

Jeffrey grins and Dean grins back and closes his eyes.

Five hours later, Dean Winchester wakes up next to a twenty-something year old guy and experiences the hangover of his life.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean? Hungover? That never happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's pretty long!

“Okay, this is definitely not the weirdest place I’ve woken up.” Dean is talking, half to himself and half to the attractive man with the tousled hair whose bed Dean seems to be sitting in. The Winchester’s thrown on a t-shirt and fuck, where are his jeans. He finds them halfway across the floor and just stands there, holding them in one hand. “You know what, I’m not even gonna ask anymore.”  
Jeffrey chuckles, and Dean hears the sizzle of something fucking delicious on the stove. “Oh holy shit, tell me that’s bacon.” Jeffrey gives a full-out laugh now, turning around. “You got it, big boy.”  
“Big boy, huh? Was it that good?” Dean’s memory of the night before is fuzzy but he’s mildly certain he wasn’t disappointed. And God only knows he hasn’t thought about Cas or Sam since his fateful arrival at the bar, and it feels fucking great.  
The dark-haired man grins again, throws him a fork. “I’ve had worse,” he admits jokingly, winking. Suddenly Dean is flustered and woah, this is so totally not like him at all. And suddenly Dean isn’t hungry anymore; he’s hungover and lost and yeah, just as he expected, he’s got about fifteen missed calls.  
Dean shifts awkwardly, pockets his cellphone. He finds himself shrugging on his jacket while Jeffrey looks on with a confused expression, and Dean is embarrassed. It’s not the first time he’s walked out on someone; it won’t be the last. But Dean Winchester is as easy to read as a Dr. Seuss book, and feels a tap on his shoulder as he’s walking out the door.  
“Here,” it’s Jeffrey. “It’s my number.” The man rocks on the balls of his feet for a minute, and continues. “Look, it looks to me like you’ve got some issues goin’ on, that’s fine. But if you’re ever in a bad spot, you know.” He presses the slip of paper into Dean’s hand, gives it a firm shake. Dean goes to reply but suddenly there’s a lump in his throat and the smell of bacon reaches him again. But Dean Winchester just smiles, nods his head, and closes the door on one more chance at one normal day.  
It’s not until he shuts the door of the Impala that the weight crashes on his shoulders and woah, his head aches, his bones ache, even his fucking ass aches. And he’s got 15- no, 16 missed calls from his little brother. And one from a restricted number somewhere on the side of the road.  
Dean takes a deep breath, pockets Jeffrey’s number, and calls his brother back.

“Dean, what the fuck, where the hell are you?”  
Dean convinces himself that it’s good to hear his brother’s voice, yeah, family is most important. Family is top priority. And family is to be bullshitted, the Winchester decides. Truly his father’s son.  
“I’m about twenty miles out from the Batcave, why, somethin’ wrong?”  
“Dean, that’s not what I meant. I meant, where the hell where you?” Sam is completely exasperated, Dean can tell from his voice. And Dean is totally bs-ing him, Sam can tell from, well, Dean.  
“Bar, hotel, some chick. The Dean Winchester Friday night special. C’mon, Sammy, you know how it goes.”  
Dean can practically hear Sam rolling his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Just get your ass over here. There’s someone who kind of wants to talk to you.”  
Dean’s mood is now one hundred percent down the drain and hey, he found out who the mysterious missed call was. As if he ever had any doubts.  
“Super-duper, Sammy. I’ll be there before you can say ‘weirdly over-protective younger brother’.”  
“Dean-“ He hangs up, deletes his brother’s voicemails, and turns the Impala’s radio as high as it’ll go.

Castiel has never understood Dean Winchester’s obsession with liquor and women, especially at the same time. Sure, he’s drunk his fair share of alcohol, but then again the angel’s never actually been “laid”. So, he figures he can’t really judge Dean until he’s walked in his shoes, as per the expression.  
When Dean arrives back at the “Batcave”, he smells of a little liquor and a little sweat, and a lot of bacon. And a lot of Impala. It’s strange, it’s different from the usual smell coming off Dean after one of his little bar-and-hotel excursions. There’s no flowery scent, nothing feminine, just some sort of wildness and a little bit of something that the angel can’t place.  
And when the older Winchester makes eye contact with him it’s strange, because Dean’s eyes make it look like he’s seeing the angel for the very first time. It’s not fear, this time. It’s surprise and a little embarrassment and the feeling of “woah, I fucked up” that’s on Dean’s face surprisingly often. And the man’s stare pierces right through Castiel’s own and the angel lifts his chin. “Hello, Dean.”  
Dean Winchester has remembered who Jeffrey reminded him of. Dean Winchester has remembered who else in his life has the same short, black hair, the same bright blue eyes, the same stubble sweeping its way across his chin.  
“Hey, angel.” Wait, what? “I mean hey, haven’t seen you around these parts in what, never? Seriously, have you even been to the Batcave yet? Dude, you are missing out. I’ve even got my own room.” Dean is covering up, rubbing the back of his neck with a sweaty hand. Because in the dark of Jeffrey’s room, oh my god. “Cas.”  
“I’m listening, Dean.” Shit, fuck, god dammit, Dean thinks. He said that out loud.  
He makes a distraction. “Check out this sword.” Dean puts on his best ‘excited little kid’ face, picks up the sword from its wooden resting place, swings it around a little. “That is so fucking sweet.”  
Sam steps up to Dean, all six feet, four inches of him, and grabs the sword out of his brother’s hands. “You. Me. Other room. Now.” And Dean can remember something like this happening just yesterday but hey, he thinks, maybe it really is true that history repeats itself.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean get in a little sort of sibling fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably the shortest of all the chapters, whoops. I'm not really a consistent person.

Sam’s hands are sweaty, which is a little weird. Okay, more than a little weird. What’s also weird is the way Dean’s been behaving; acting like he’s a teenage girl with some kind of dirty secret, acting towards Castiel like he’s some kind of evil ex-boyfriend.  
“So, Dean, you wanna tell me what’s going on with you and our feathered friend out there?” Sam puts on his most casually interested face, crosses his arms like he’s having a chat with an old friend.  
Dean’s feathers are definitely ruffled. “What do you mean, what’s going on? I mean, okay, the dude tried to kill me. But then again, that was some psycho featherbrained hyper-bitch. I’m pretty much over it.” He mimics Sam’s pose, crossing his arms defensively.  
“Dean, that’s not what I’m talking about and you know it! What I want to know, is how many times are we gonna have to go through this conversation before you just tell me the truth?” Sam is so pissed he can practically feel the steam coming out of his ears, because god damn it if Dean hasn’t skirted the truth far too many times. Sure, Sam knows he’s done his fair share of lying. Especially to Dean. But Sam also knows he’s covered his tracks, as opposed to Dean’s leaving crumbs of lies all along the way. It’s harsh, Sam knows that too. But he knows it’s true.  
“You know what, Sammy? Lying to you, it sucks major ass, believe me.” Dean is procrastinating, picking his words like he’s picking the ripest berries off a bush; carefully.  
“Thanks, Dean, but tell me something I don’t know. Tell me why you’re avoiding Castiel like you fucked his nonexistent girlfriend.” Sam is out of sympathy now, running on empty.  
“Well, Sammy, once upon a time, there was a pretty cool guy called Dean Winchester. He was having a pretty shitty day, so—“ Dean’s got an arrogant, half-assed smile on his face that dies as soon as Sam cuts him off. Sam is so pissed, god, and Dean feels like a cornered animal. Fight or flight, he thinks.  
“Cut the crap, Dean!” Sam is so mad, Dean thinks he can see steam coming out of the guy’s ears.  
“Alright, you got it.” Dean claps his hands together. Fight or flight, he thinks again. Easy. “So there’s this bar, not too far down the highway, happened to have beer for pretty cheap.”  
Sam cuts him off again before he can start his next sentence. “I get it, you got drunk, fucked some girl. What the fuck does this have to do with Cas?”  
Dean winks at Sammy, another arrogant move. He’s running on pure fired-up adrenaline, the same cocky feeling he gets when he’s staking a werewolf through the heart. “The fucking, that’s the interesting part. It was a real pretty one, black hair, blue eyes. Just like our heavenly friend over there.” He gestures towards the closed bedroom door. Sam shifts his eyes over, and back to meet Dean’s. He’s confused more than anything now, and Dean’s got him in the perfect spot.  
Time to go in for the kill, Dean thinks with a mental shrug. “Check this out, I even got their number.” He pulls Jeffrey’s wrinkled note out of his pocket, flips it over for the first time. On one’s side’s the name “Jeffrey Conan” and the number, on the back there’s a note hastily scribbled in blue pen: Hey, Dean. It’s been good. Call me.  
He hands the note to Sam, watches as his little brother’s eyes scan the incriminating paper. Then Dean watches as his little brother’s eyes go huge.  
“You have got to be fucking with me.”  
Dean half-smiles, twisting his face into a wry grin. “Call the number and you’ll find out.”  
Sam’s hands are sweaty again, and his anger has dissolved like dust in the wind. “You’re trying to tell me that you’ve been avoiding me and Cas for almost two days straight because you had drunken sex with a guy named Jeffrey who looks like Castiel.”  
Dean winces, rubs the back of his neck. His ears are bright red, he’s pretty fucking sure. “Way to put it bluntly, dude.”  
Sam just gives Dean a sideways glance and for the first time in his (recent) life, he’s fucking terrified. But Sam just walks right by him, pats him on the shoulder, presses the note back into his hand, and opens the door.  
There’s silence outside, and then Sam walks back in. “Cas is gone.”


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where's Castiel been, anyway? Oh wait, here he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really self-indulgent. Really. Like dang, Cas is my favorite character in all of SPN, but he's kind of tough for me to write for... I tried though.  
> Did I mention this one's really self-indulgent? Oops
> 
> Also lots of happiness!! Seriously. If you want a nice, happy Destiel fic, you should probably just read this one chapter. Hehehe.
> 
> (also DANG did anyone say long chapter bc I heard long chapter)

Castiel’s shoes are scuffed with mud and the wind teases his black hair and ruffles his old tan coat. The park bench is a little damp, a little scuffed, a little vandalized. Names of kids in love are scratched into the soft wood, initials surrounded with badly-drawn hearts. The angel runs his fingers over the scrapes in the wood, lets out a sigh and a puff of warm air into the crisp September evening. The sun is setting slowly and god it is just so beautiful. Castiel loves his eternal Tuesday afternoon in the sky, but up there it is rare that he gets the chance to witness the sun sinking below the horizon, creating a thousand colors in the atmosphere with its dying breath.

Castiel breathes out again and this time it’s a little bit stuttered and his blue eyes are a little blurry because god, it’s so beautiful it takes his breath away. And the September breeze stirs the leaves above his head and a bird chirps, flying away. It’s a blue jay and the angel watches it until it’s a speck on the horizon and until it’s invisible from even an angel’s eyes.

The bench where Castiel sits is overlooking a field surrounded by trees and there are kids playing and dogs catching Frisbees and Cas thinks that the leaves on the trees remind him of the color of Dean Winchester’s eyes, and suddenly it’s as if someone pulled the wool off of the angel’s own bright blues. Thunder booms and it starts to rain and Castiel is walking along the side of a road in the suburbs, getting wet. Sure, he could zap wherever he likes with that angel mojo of his but the angel is currently homeless, with nowhere to go back that doesn’t remind him of Sam and Dean.

He’s got nothing against the Winchesters, never did. It’s just when Sam looks at him like he’s about to start spouting nonsense about bees and flowers again, and when Dean narrows his eyes at him like the man expects him to once again drive his fist into the Winchester’s face.

It starts to rain harder and Castiel shivers. People stare at him on the street; a disheveled man with a dirty coat and rainwater dripping down his hair and his sleeves. He ignores the stares; God only knows he’s used to them. He’s an angel, for goodness’ sake.

He zaps himself into the Batcave’s bathroom and wipes down his face with a towel. When he opens his eyes Dean is standing behind him, staring into the angel’s eyes through the mirror. And Castiel is cold and wet and shivering a little and Dean reaches up and pats him on the shoulder and the contact feels like he’s been electrocuted.

He catches a glimpse of Sam walking past the bathroom in the hallway; the younger Winchester stops, does a double take, and keeps walking. And Castiel doesn’t even notice as Dean eases the trench coat off his narrow shoulders, breaks eye contact. “Here, man, lemme go shove that in the dryer.” His eyes light up, “Yeah, you heard me. A dryer.” He gives Cas a half-grin and a nod, strolling out the door on the balls of his feet.

Castiel without his trench coat feels like a bird without its feathers, and he shivers again.

Sam finds him half an hour later sitting in front of the television Dean installed the month before, watching a documentary on the National Geographic channel. “The mating rituals of birds of paradise are so interesting,” the angel muses, with a half-smile of interest on his face. “Look at this. The males are all kinds of crazy colors and do all these weird dances just go to get the female’s attention.” He turns to Sam, waiting patiently for some kind of signal of appreciation, some kind of sign that he’s doing something right.

“Hey, that’s pretty neat.” Sam cracks a smile, turns back to the television. “Imagine if humans did that when they mated, dressin’ up in all these weird clothes and dancing just to get a girl’s attention.” He starts laughing, shakes his head. “Hey, if you think about it, some dudes actually do that.” Castiel hangs his head and cracks a smile, and meets Sam’s eyes, and a laugh forces itself up from his throat with a squeak. Sam erupts into laughter and then fuck, now Cas finds himself laughing too, and they’ve got tears in their eyes and down their faces by the time Dean finds them.

Dean crosses his arms and grins from ear to ear, like a proud father watching his sons play. Because, honestly, Castiel is just as much a Winchester as Sam is. Just as much as Bobby, or Mary, or Adam, or John. And Dean doesn’t even know what they’re laughing about but god if it isn’t contagious. Suddenly laughter’s bubbling up from the older brother’s own throat, raw and rough like he hasn’t laughed in years, and really, he hasn’t. He remembers the last time he laughed like that fondly; behind the whore house with Castiel, the angel disheveled and embarrassed as Dean’s doubled over with laughter.

And Dean is doubled over with laughter again, laughter and nostalgia. He remembers all of it; he remembers the angel pulling him out of Hell, remembers the same angel guiding him as he fought the apocalypse. Dean Winchester remembers when his angel left him, remembers when his angel came back. Remembers when his angel was scattered like dust to the wind by the devil in his brother’s meatsuit. Remembers when his angel came back to him. Remembers when his angel left again.  
Dean Winchester remembers when his angel lied to him, avoided him, and Dean Winchester remembers when his angel became God for a day. And Dean Winchester remembers holding his angel up by the shoulder, the flesh melting off his face like snow receding from a grassy field at the beginning of spring. And he remembers Castiel collapsing on the ground and he remembers Castiel, the angel, his angel, telling him to run as black blood coursed through his veins. And he remembers when his angel was taken from him, and brought back, and taken again. And he remembers when his angel let go of his hand and disappeared in a flash of light. And he remembers when his angel came to him in a motel bathroom, and when his angel tried to kill him in an old decrepit building in the dark.

Castiel is now sitting down, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, patting Sam on the back. Sam is doing the same, mirroring the angel’s movements like they’ve known each other all their lives. And Cas raises his head, makes eye contact with Dean. And yeah, Dean knows. And Castiel knows too, they both know that. And Castiel’s eyes are shining and his face is glowing and god, he’s dripping and smells like a wet dog. Dean is grinning from ear to ear and Sam is looking back and forth between the two of them and pats Castiel on the back again. He stands up, walks over to his brother, puts his arm around his shoulder.

Sam Winchester meets his brother’s eyes and yeah, Sam knows too. “Hey, way to go, man.”

And Dean plays dumb because he honestly can’t believe his eyes either. “Cmon, what are you talking about?”

Sam grins again, gives his big brother a shove. “Ha ha, very funny Dean. Now go get ‘em, you huge baby.”

Dean shoves Sam back. “Bitch.”

“Jerk.” Sam replies, flipping his brother off before walking out the door.

Dean walks over to Cas, sits down on the old couch next to him. “Hey, Cas.”

Castiel looks over at Dean, smiles again. “Hello Dean.” And before either of them even knows what’s happening, their lips meet.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel run around like teenagers in love. That's it. That's the whole chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vERy cute very. cute  
> very. self-indulgent again ggOSH i just love fluffy destiel wtf  
> *cries 300 tears* destiel fluff
> 
> anyway. this one's not too short or too long it's just right uwu  
> enjoy!!!
> 
> also, i did actual research for this one. unbelievable.

Dean and Castiel start off slow. The first day, they kiss once, pulling away quickly as both their faces turn as red as seventh graders having their first kiss. Which, given the circumstances, is a relatively accurate description.

The second day, they go grocery shopping together, and Dean teaches Cas that the best apples are always the ones in the very back. Cas, in turn, teaches Dean that certain angels have an affinity for store brand sugar cookies. The Winchester doesn’t even notice the cookies in the shopping cart until they’re at the checkout and the angel refuses to meet his eyes. Dean punches Castiel on the shoulder, laughs.

Sam asks later why there are sugar cookies in the pantry, and Dean bursts into laughter. Sam never does get a straight answer, but he doesn’t really mind.  
The third day, Cas takes Dean to the park bench. They watch the sunset, and Dean sings under his breath. Castiel doesn’t recognize the song, but he thinks it’s beautiful.

On the fourth day, Cas and Dean get in an argument over whether or not they should call Kevin and check up on him. While they’re arguing, Sam does it anyway; he finds the two kissing in Dean’s room at the end of the night and smiles to himself.

On the fifth day, Cas and Dean are holding hands around the house.

On the sixth day, Dean goes for a road trip alone, and neither Sam nor Castiel knows why. Dean drives to the park with Castiel’s favorite bench, sits on the roof of the Impala, and thinks to himself. Dean Winchester thinks about Castiel, and thinks about himself. Dean thinks about the lives he has saved, and the lives he has lost. He thinks about his brother, his father, his mother, his grandfather. He thinks about Kevin, and Garth, and Bobby, and Jo, and Ellen, and Gabriel, and Samandriel, and Balthazar.

Dean Winchester sits on the roof of the Impala, and he forgives, and he forgets. And he stays the night, sleeping in his car ‘til the sun rises and peeks into his window.  
Dean calls Jeffrey and tells him about his father, his mother, his brother, his angel. He tells him about the apocalypse and about Hell and about Purgatory and Jeffrey listens, bless him, doesn’t say a single word. And Dean tells Jeffrey about Castiel, about everything. He tells him about the shape of the angel’s face and about his dirty old trench coat. He tells him about the angel’s lips and his voice and his eyes and his sugar cookies and the way his hand feels when it’s held. And Jeffrey tells Dean what to do, and Dean listens.

So when Dean Winchester gets back to the Batcave he sits Castiel down, tells him a story. Dean Winchester tells a story that he had learned back in eighth grade, the story of Beowulf. Dean tells his angel about the brave warrior, tells him about how Beowulf and his men faced the mighty dragon. Tells him how every man ran at the sight of the beast but Beowulf and Wiglaf, and how the two men fought the ferocious dragon alone. Dean tells Castiel about how Beowulf drove his sword into the dragon’s chest, how he was stabbed by one of the horns on the dragon’s head. He tells Cas about how Beowulf, as he lie dying, bestowed the kingdom and the dragon’s treasure to his faithful man, Wiglaf.

And when Dean finishes the story his voice is at a whisper, and Castiel is fast asleep. Dean pushes the angel’s hair out of his face, takes his shoes off, and tucks him in.

Okay, that wasn’t so hard, Dean muses.

He spends the next three hours watching some old ‘80s sci-fi movie on the TV, and when Sam comes in to find out what the noise is, Dean’s asleep.  
On the seventh day, Castiel comes to Sam for some form of relationship advice. “You’ve known Dean longer,” is the angel’s claim. Sam shakes his head. “Yeah, well, I think you’ve known him better.” Castiel smiles and turns his head away.

On the eighth day, Dean and Cas go out for dinner. It’s not a fancy restaurant, but it’s something; they both order something filling and massive and spend the last half an hour chatting about the birds and the bees and the weather.

Two weeks later, Dean and Cas are holding hands in public places. Sam checks in with Kevin; tells him to take a break. Kevin stays in the spare room in the Batcave, and they move Castiel’s mattress to Dean’s room. It takes up nearly the whole room, but neither of the two care.

For a month and a half there has been no talk of the demon tablet, none of the angel tablet. They’re both stashed with Garth somewhere across the country, locked away in a boat with bottles of headache pills.

For a month and a half there has been no talk of Crowley or demons or anything of the sort and Sam feels like there’s something off about it, but doesn’t say anything. It is a happy sort of something off, and Sam leaves it be.

After two months Dean is singing to Castiel in the middle of the Batcave and god, Castiel thinks his voice is better than any heaven’s choir he’s ever heard. The angel doesn’t know what Dean is singing, but he knows it’s from the ‘70s and it’s gravelly and it’s incredible.

Three days later Dean is on the phone with someone, Castiel doesn’t know who, but the Winchester refers to the angel as his boyfriend and Cas is surprised. Surprised, but happy. And as soon as Dean gets off the phone he’s met with kisses from his angel that turn his face red.

It has been two and a half months and Dean and Castiel have not had sex; Dean tells himself it’s not necessary but then again it’s not necessary that he’s jacking off to the thought of it in the shower. Castiel has wondered about it; he may be somewhat socially inept but he knows that two people in a relationship tend to have sex pretty often. So he thinks about it, and he waits.

Dean walks in on Castiel watching gay porn one day and woah, okay, how the hell did he even find that, he didn’t even know the angel could use a computer.  
Dean watches over the angel’s shoulder, denies it later.

It’s nearing midnight on the 81st day and Castiel tells Dean that they should have sex.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uh, sex. Also, other stuff, including bacon and demons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jesus christmas christ i'm so sorry i can't write sex scenes at all *falls over*  
> damn son i should just stick to fluff. all the time
> 
> anyway??? enjoy???? uh  
> also idk i didn't want a 500-word chapter so i stuck some other stuff in at the end dang

It’s nervous at first, Dean slowly pulling Castiel forward by his backwards tie. Then Castiel is taking off Dean’s jacket, hands running down Dean’s sides. Neither of them know what to do so Dean wings it, takes off his shirt as his angel pushes him down onto the soft foam of their mattress. Castiel’s shirt is half-unbuttoned and Dean is reaching up, fumbling for the buttons and his breath is already quick and shallow. And god knows he’s sober this time but Dean feels so intoxicated; everything’s a little blurry and he feels a little hot and woah, Castiel is kneeling above him taking off his shirt. And it seems to Dean that for a virgin Castiel has a strange knowledge of exactly what to do, as if it’s an animal instinct that flows through the angel’s veins like water through a mountain.

Dean is on the bottom but he’s not really thinking about it, he’s not thinking about anything, he’s not thinking; his breaths are short and quick and woah, woah, his angel boyfriend is standing over him without a shirt and unzipping his pants. Dean’s breath quickens and woah, shit, he’s got a boner, and he pulls off his jeans like they’re made of fire. Castiel’s fancy dress pants are crumpled on the floor and he’s got a boner too and okay, Dean knows he said once that angels were junkless. Their vessels, however, are not, and luckily for Dean it happened that Jimmy Novak was relatively well endowed.

Dean second guesses himself for a minute, hesitates. It’s not Castiel’s body that’s above him like a dark cloud, it’s Jimmy’s; there’s something about that that makes Dean’s flesh crawl like thousands of tiny spiders. And Castiel seems to read Dean’s mind, leans down and whispers into his ear.

“Jimmy’s dead, Dean. This is me.” And Dean nods wordlessly and reaches up and ohh, okay, he touches Castiel’s chest with a shaking hand and his nervousness dissolves. The angel is kissing Dean’s naked upper half with a furious passion, Dean barely able to whisper out “oh, my god.” Castiel is an animal, and Dean is too, clawing at his angel’s back like a wild dog. 

Dean is noisy, writhing and moaning as Castiel’s hands explore and it’s mostly obscenities; breaths of “holy shit” and “fuck fuck fuck” that would make his mother wash out his mouth with soap. And Castiel is mostly quiet but his breaths come loud and their clothes are strewn on the floor and god, Castiel thinks, why hasn’t he done this before. Dean is scraping at his back with rough fingernails and Cas is just touching Dean’s body all over and Dean is squirming and panting and they both are and then Dean’s face down on the bed and holy shit. Dean feels drunk, like he did back with Jeffrey so many months ago but it’s different, he can feel everything and god does it feel incredible. Castiel’s mind is blank, he’s sweating like a sheepdog in summertime and by the time the two of them finish they’re tangled up in each other, exhaustedly kissing at each other’s necks like they’re famished.

It’s not until Dean hears Sam shuffling around in the kitchen that he opens his eyes; and there’s no moment of panic like the first time as he sees his angel lying next to him. The angel’s hair is disheveled and his fingers are clenched around the sheet like it’s a lifeline. Dean runs his fingers over Castiel’s forehead, throws the rest of the sheet over his still body, watches his chest rise and fall. Cas is a celestial being, a huge alien creature the size of the Chrysler Building, but as Dean watches him he’s just so utterly human.

Dean Winchester pulls on a fresh pair of jeans and a t-shirt he had stuffed half-assedly in the dresser. His brother is cooking bacon and Kevin is watching TV, one of Sam’s old t-shirts hanging off his small frame. He looks up towards Dean as he enters the room and grins; Dean can feel his whole face heat up as he scoffs and turns away.

Sam finishes the bacon, throws it on a plate, and turns back to his laptop. “Hey, Dean, check this out.” It’s words that Dean hasn’t heard it a while, and he walks over quickly.

“Lookin’ like demon activity over where Garth is. I called him up a little while ago, went right to voicemail.” Sam shrugs. Dean narrows his eyes, frowns. “Went to voicemail? Doesn’t that guy have like, three hundred phones now or something?”

Sam shrugs again. “Tried every phone he’s got, nothing. Hey Kevin, when’d you say was the last time you spoke to Garth again?”

Kevin rubs his eyes, walking over to Sam and Dean with a tired expression on his face. “Man, that was probably like, three, four months ago? I dunno, I just woke up…”

Dean turns around again and bam, there’s Castiel in his face. “Geez, Cas, ever heard of walking a couple feet?” Cas replies with a quick “yeah” and they’re kissing again, Kevin rolling his eyes as Sam clears his throat.

“Anyway, demon activity near where Garth and the tablet’s stored at, I think we can all guess what that’s about.” Dean breaks away from his angel reluctantly, turning his gaze back to Sam. “Yeah, that sounds about right. So, what do you say, Cas and I hop over there, check it out, check in back here tomorrow.”

“It doesn’t take an entire day to drive down there and back, Dean. Besides, Cas can just zap you guys there, can’t he?” Sam crosses his arms, furrows his brow  
.  
“Dean.” Castiel touches his boyfriend on the shoulder (and wow, the word boyfriend itself sends chills down his spine), turns him to face him. “Sam’s right. We’ll go to Garth’s, investigate the demon activity, come straight back. It’ll take two, three hours at most, maybe.”

Sam nods. “Yeah, okay, good plan. Meanwhile, Kevin and I’ll watch the news, look for more demon stuff, the whole deal.”

Dean grumbles. “Great, you guys get the easy stuff. So, Cas, you want shotgun?” Castiel grins, shakes his head. “Dean, I was saying it’d be two or three hours if I zapped us there. Driving, it’s more like four or five.”

Castiel’s expression is apologetic, but Dean still grimaces as the angel places two fingers on his forehead.

When Dean opens his eyes again, he’s surrounded by demons and his angel is gone.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demons (lots of em!) show up, and Dean sort of ends up getting his ass kicked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!!!! fight scene. hell yea. let's do this B)  
>  (also i'm sorry for beating dean up omg. man when i really love characters all i do is torture them wtf)  
> (and also again. i wrote the ending to this chapter after having not written anything for like two months so its a little out of character umu)

“Cas? Cas!” Dean is alone and oh my god, what’s going on. The whole angel zapping thing is disorienting every single time, even more so when the zapping involves a disappearing angel and a lot of very angry demons.

One of them, a pretty little blonde, snakes up to Dean with a hiss. “Where’s the prophet, big boy? Left the kid home on your little field trip?” Dean backhands her, stabs her with the knife and woah, this is the kind of stuff that really gets him riled up. Adrenaline pumps itself into his veins and his heart beats like a drum; mainly to the beat of “where’s Cas, where’s Cas, where’s Cas”.

A scream rings out from behind him and there’s the angel, hand placed on a scruffy-looking man’s forehead, his face lit up by the demon’s life force burning beneath his palm. His eyes meet Dean’s and the angel lets go, the demon’s shell falling in a heap on the musty ground. Dean is hacking away left and right to get to his angel and when they meet it’s like a hurricane of destruction. Demons are falling to the ground at their feet, staggering away holding their sides and clutching at their throats.

“Hey Cas, exactly how many demons did you land us right in the middle of?” Dean shouts, wiping sweat off his blood-spattered head.

Castiel shakes his head. “I don’t know, I…didn’t expect there to be this many.” Dean sighs, takes a deep breath. “Well, hey, could be worse.”

The sun is setting on the grassy field where Dean and his angel are fighting and the eyes of the dying demons begin to light up the night like fireworks. Castiel is a machine, an animal, smiting one after another. Dean is slower, like a machine that hasn’t been oiled in a while. The hunter is out of practice, muscles softened by months of easy living and romance.

He stabs a demon in the throat and puts his hands on his knees, panting. Castiel shoots him a worried glance and Dean shakes his head. “Cas, man, I dunno how much longer I can keep this up.” He says hoarsely and great, there are more demons surrounding him, hissing and yelling for the prophet and his tablet. Castiel grimaces. “It looks like they’re beginning to weaken.” Dean takes it as a sort of reassurance and stands up, slashing at demon’s sides and throats like a whirlwind.

Castiel is right, Dean starts to find. The demons are fighting back less and less and the hunter finds himself covered with more of their blood and less of his. Dean may be tiring, but he is more pumped up on adrenaline than he’s been since the night with Cas.

The Winchester yanks the knife out from the base of some poor man’s spine and grimaces as the demon sparks and fizzles out inside. There aren’t many demons left, but he can still hear fighting from where Castiel is, and the sounds of screams echoes in Dean’s ear like a horrific symphony. Castiel himself is silent; slashing and smiting and pivoting, and it seems to Dean like Texas Chainsaw Massacre meets ballet.

The last demon falls to the ground at the angel’s feet, and Dean grins. Castiel’s face, however, is mortified, staring at the space behind the hunter’s head. “Dean, get the knife.”

The demon knife is still lying in some poor sap’s pool of blood, and Castiel is looking more anxious each second. “Dean. Get the knife.”

Dean Winchester turns around.

There is a horde of demons walking up a hill towards him, meatsuits covered in mud and blood and some other substances Dean doesn’t recognize.

Dean Winchester lunges for the knife.

He lands with his face inches from the blood-spattered ground and leaps up and suddenly there’s a demon right in his face; black-eyed and snarling with scratches and shreds in the meatsuit. Her skin is pale white like the moon and she smells kind of like there was genocide in a flower shop, and she kisses Dean on the lips.

“Hey, gorgeous.” She croons and Dean is furious, heart beating as fast as a mouse’s. “I’ve got a little deal for ya. Give us the prophet, we let you live.” Dean opens his mouth and the demon puts a single, nail-polished finger on it. “I know, I know. Most overused, clichéd trick in the book. Well,” she purrs, “you’ve gotta be used to it by now.”

“Y’know, you remind me of someone. Heard of Abaddon?” The hunter is outnumbered and outgunned by more than he can count; he resorts to flicking witty remarks off his tongue.

The demon laughs, a sharp, shrill sound that echoes in Dean’s ears. “Abaddon? Please. We haven’t heard a word of her since-“ Dean cuts her off. “Since we chopped her up and shoved her in a hole in the ground.”

The demon grimaces, then smiles. “Well, either way, I’m flattered.” She smiles wider, turning to her grimy horde of followers that are spread out across the field. “Kill him.”

Dean feels himself flying; he hits the ground with a shock that makes his eyes go fuzzy. Castiel is standing in front of him, slicing and dicing with the silver blade. It’s poetry in motion, even Dean can tell that much.

“Dean!” The hunter gets to his feet, runs over to his angel. The two of them are slashing and punching and- holy shit, there are so many of them.

“How many of these sons of bitches even are there?” Dean yells, and Castiel’s blue eyes meet his green with a frantic glance. “I don’t know.” And suddenly Dean is thrown up into the air again, the she-demon smiling with a look of death in her eyes.

“Not so tough are ya now, big boy?” She croons, and Dean spits blood in her face and misses by a foot and a half.

“Fucking piss on me, you black-eyed bitch.”

The demon howls with laughter, and behind her the hunter can see his angel slowing down; he’s running out of time and geez, he’s hanging in the air above hordes of dirty demons. Not an ideal day trip.

“Give me the prophet, and I’ll think about it.”

“Like I said. Piss. On. Me!” Dean Winchester lunges out and the demon falters.

Dean Winchester meets the ground face-first from ten feet in the air.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean recovers after having his ass handed to him on a silver platter, and talks to his heavenly boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok friends i wrote this chapter after having not written anything for like a month probably so it's probably real out of character man i'm sorry u m u  
> but. hopefully it's still pretty good
> 
> also!! this one's the most recent so you're gonna have to actually wait for the next one sorry omg
> 
> also, short chapter! the last word is the 10,000th word in the word document and i wanted to end on that. so this chapter's like, >900 words, sadly.

“-care of him, okay? 'Cause look, Garth’s still AWOL, we’re out in the middle of nowhere, and there’s a frickin’ demon on our asses. So, Cas, it’d do me a huge favor if you could give me one less thing to worry about.”

“Yeah, Sam, of course. Nothing to worry about.”

“Thanks, Cas.” Click.

“…looks like little Sammy’s takin’ care of me for once. That’s almost a first.” Dean’s voice is muddled, slurred by pain medication and the concussion that made the hunter’s head throb even when under the influence of multiple pharmaceuticals.

“And hey, Mr. Uptight…with the wings. Yeah. Cas. Chill out a little, I’m fine.” Dean grins, his face a rainbow of black and blue and red. Castiel sighs, brushing invisible specks of dirt off his coat. “I’m perfectly ‘chill’, Dean.”

“Dude. You thought I was gonna die, didn’t you…? Man, maybe you haven’t been around as long as I thought. I never die I’m. Fuckin’ invincible.”

Castiel sat down on the side of the hospital bed Dean is laying in. The hunter is in a bright white hospital gown, the same shade of white that covers every single wall and floor and table.

Cas’s hair’s a little disheveled, a little dirty. Dean’s is all cleaned up, no longer sticky with blood or mud or god knows what else. Dean’s green eyes are a little shiny with fever, a little dark with regret. Castiel’s baby blues are downcast and so, so tired and it makes Dean’s heart a little bit heavier. ‘Cause the hunter’s boyfriend—damn, the word sounds strange even inside his head-is so weary and Dean can’t do a damn thing from a hospital bed, and it makes his head ache.

“Look, Cas, I know you don’t like the whole hospital thing. But don’t beat yourself up over not bein’ able to zap me back to workin’ condition, it’s…not your fault. You’re all…powered out. Or somethin’.”

The angel sighs again. “Dean, if it weren’t for me we wouldn’t even be here.”

“Cmon, it’s not like you knew they were—“

“Of course I knew the demons were there, that’s why I took us there. Now I’m ‘out of juice’ or whatever you say, and you’re in a hospital bed.”

Dean lays his head back on the pillow, stares at the shapes in the shitty popcorn ceiling. There’s a duck, a cloud, and something like a dust bunny that Dean can’t quite make out, but he shakes his head and the pictures are gone.  
“Cas.”

Castiel turns around to face Dean on the bed and grabs his hand.

Dean grabs Cas’s hand back, and feels his face grow a little hot. The angel’s palm is calloused and damp from sweat and from years in Jimmy Novak’s borrowed body. Dean’s is a little cold, a little tough, but Castiel can feel the hunter’s heartbeat through his skin and it’s strong and warm and alive.

“Cas. Call Sam, tell him you’ll be where he’s at in an hour. Take the Impala.”

“Dean-“

“Cas, I’m gonna be here for a while. And it’s no use havin’ you sit in here like a paperweight cause my head is busted. Go find Garth, kill that demon son of a bitch, and then you can come back for me.”

“Dean, you don’t even know where Sam is. He’s probably—“

“Go.”

“Dean!”

“Go!” Castiel lets go of Dean’s hand. Dean hears the jangling of car keys and wonders briefly if the angel can even drive; he figures he’ll find out soon enough. Castiel gives Dean that look; the one he gives the hunter when something’s up but he doesn’t have the angelic self-worth to say anything. Dean’s got a headache the size of Mt. Everest and a hole in his heart the size of the state of Alaska, but he’s so tired and knows he can’t take back what he said. Not anymore.

“I’ll be back soon.” Castiel stops, turns around, and kisses Dean on the forehead without making eye contact.

The white door closes on white walls and sterile people and Dean Winchester is alone again.

 

Castiel is halfway down some Interstate in some state whose name he can’t remember off the top of his head. He’s got Dean’s music playing on the radio; partly because he’s not exactly sure how to turn it to a different station, but mostly because he doesn’t care. And the angel likes Dean’s music; it reminds him of blue skies and park benches and kisses and shoulder rubs and bacon at home. It reminds him of newly washed jeans and reminds him of when his trenchcoat wasn’t splattered with mud and blood and everything else.

Castiel slams his hand on the steering wheel, and it hurts.

The angel is angry- angry at Garth for making them go to the demon field, angry at Sam and Kevin for leaving them, angry at himself for letting Dean get hurt. And angry at himself for leaving Dean.

He turns the music off, and drives in silence. The skies are gray outside, cloudy and windy like there’s a thunderstorm approaching. Raindrops begin to hit the Impala’s windshield, and the angel rolls the windows up.

Castiel turns the radio back on, and drives away.


End file.
